THE NEW YORKER to make the trip. They sure ha ve done a lot of things to the roads around here. The town is practically bypassed. What ever happened to South Main Street? We never did get on South Main. And these God- damn one-way streets. I almost got a ticket. If I hadn't had a Connect- icut license, the cop at Main and Scandinavia was going to slap me with a summons." "That was Paul Keppler. He's tough." "0 h, God, is that who that was? The big fat baby-faced guy? That would have been appropriate. His father arrested me back in 1920 or thereabouts. But he took a look at my driver's license and let me go. He never said who he was, or pre- tended to know me. 'J LIst watch the signs,' he said, and waved " me on. "You can be damn sure he knew who you were, though. We think he's the best cop on the force. He graduated from the F.B.I. school, and he's the only one the kids pay any attention to." "There," said George Denison, lay- ing down the pen. "I guess that does it." He picked up the check, read it, and put it back on Andy Stokes's blot- ter. He found that Stokes was looking at him, half smiling, trying to read his mind. George Denison smiled back and shook hIs head. "No, Andv, I'm not . " h d gOIng to cry, e sal . "Maybe not, but for just a few sec- onds it hit you," said Andy Stokes. " I " . d G D . suppose so, sal eorge enlson. "I'll tel] you who we're having to- night," said Stokes. "Out of deference to your wishes we kept it small. We couldn't get Joe and Verna. Joe's in Philadelphia, having a big operation. Cancer. It doesn't sound so good, either. Verna told Alice that we might as well be prepared for the worst So they're out. But we did get Stubby and Jean." "That's good." "Stubby and Jean. Bob Rothermel and Cynthia That's two, four, six, '-- ') /.. '\" /,-0 A ((1 t goes that way because it's downhill." . . eight. And Henry and Ad. There won't be much drinking with that group. Stubby's been on the wagon five or six years. Henry is A.A., ver) active in it. Bob still likes to put it away, but Cynthia only drinks a little wine at din- ner. Alice never did drink, as you know, and I limit myself to two be- fore dinner, usually a bourhon-on-the- rocks." "What about Ad, and what about Jean? " "Ad IS A.A., too. Jean is unpredict- able. She's on and off the wagon from one month to the next. She may arrive tonight with the blind staggers. On the other hand, she may not take a drink. It all depends. You knew their daugh- ter had to be put away? " "No, I dIdn't. Was that Barbara?" "Barbara, yes. Bobbie. Oh, yeah. It was a tragic thing. She cut her wrists, and another time an overdose of sleep- ing pills. Some guy in Wilkes-Barre she was crazy about, so they said. Stuhhy went on the wagon, but Jean still ties one on. They sold their house, and 27 r\ ø -Of then Stub was out of a job for over a year. He's got something now. Henry gave him a job at the brewery as a sort of a coördinator with the advertising agency." "Stubby? He's a civil engineer" "He's not the only guy with a Le- high degree that's doing something altogether different. Do you remember Chuck Ralnsford? " "Sure. General superintendent of the Dilworth Collieries. I used to play golf with Chuck." "Not any more. I'm afraid he's come down in the world. He gives a course in geology at the adult-education setup we have here Two nights a week. They pay him something like a hundred and fifty dollars a term, and he tells me he's glad to get the money." "1' ve seen him bet that much on a single putt," said George Denison. "Haven't you any good news, Andy?" "Well, you know how it is. The good news is always less spectacular. Let me think Of those coming to- night? Henry and Ad's oldest grandson